The Long Sleep
by Coseepo
Summary: John-boy finds himself stuck inside his own mind, unconscious, unable to remember how he got there. Will be able to wake up before it's too late? Experimental!fic. Please review.
1. Darkness

**Hello all! The allure of this fandom was just too much, and I am back. To those of you who were reading 'The News', sorry it's been so long since I updated, but I am suffering MAJOR writer's block on that one. Like, worse than I've ever had before. Thought I'd try something a bit different with this fic, which is part of the reason why the chapters are so much shorter than usual in this.**

**So... on with the story!**

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><p><em>D…Darkness… w… what happened? What's going on? Where am I?<em>

Darkness filled his senses. There was no sound. There was nothing. Nothing but darkness. The darkness clouded his being for what seemed like centuries.

Then came a numbness. Still darkness, yes, but now was a sensation. He had nerves. He had a body. He had ears; there was a soft whirring, near his head. Constant. Low. Comforting. He had a mouth, filled with a rasping metal taste.

But still there was darkness.

And then, at last, there was a voice. Deep as the ocean and rough as the land, it uttered, in sadness, a single word.

"John-boy…"

He had nerves. He had a body. He had ears. He had a mouth.

Now he had a _name._

_John-boy_…yes, it was certainly his. He knew it well. But who had spoken? Who knew him? He certainly knew the voice. That voice… and John-boy… he slowly drew a name from his own, and knew that it was right.

His father. John.

If his father was there, surely his mother could be, too. Her name was hard to place, with nothing to go on. Not even a voice. Ah. Now that was an idea. The only voice he knew was his father's, but his father would have said his mother's name many times. He began to search through the darkness for his father's voice.

_John-boy. His own name. No._

_Mill. Not a name. No._

_Ma. Hmm._ John-boy considered this for a while, before turning it down. _That would be his mother, not his wife. No_.

_Livvy._ This one felt close, so very close, but something was wrong. Livvy. Was that a name? A thought struck him. _It _isn't_ a name. It's a nickname. But it must come from her name._

_Olivia. Yes._

He could see them now, holding eachother close sitting on a bench. He recognised the house behind them as his own. Another image came from out of the darkness, of a long table. At one end sat his father, with his mother sitting nearby. He himself sat at the other end. That was odd. Something, _someone,_ was missing. He felt sure he was missing part of his family, and it troubled him.

Still, John-boy was pleased with himself, and he patiently sat in the dark and waited for something else to happen. Nothing did.

The darkness engulfed him once more.

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><p><strong>WHAT'S GOING ON? Review if you want more, I'm not really sure abou this one.<strong>


	2. Ocarina

**This was actually the first chapter I wrote, about three months ago. I, um... I'm not expecting it to be amazing.**

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><p>"John-boy? It's Jason."<p>

A new face formed in his mind's eye. Freckled. Sandy strawberry-blonde hair. A handsome smile. A handsome face. A kind face.

"It's weird talkin' to you like this, but the doctor said it would help. Sorry I can't talk about writing, but I wouldn't know what to say. So I guess I'll have to talk about music."

The last sentence was muffled, and as the voice began to tell of the latest song it had learned – Amazing Grace – it faded slowly away, turning instead into new sounds and shapes through the darkness.

_A nine-year-old Jason runs up to his older brother on the porch, clutching something to his chest. _

"_Look at this, John-boy!"_

_John-boy __puts __down __his __pad __and __pen __and __looks.__ "__Wow, __what _is _that?__"_

"_It's an ocarina," says Jason, eyes gleaming. "Look."_

_He puts the twelve-holed instrument to his lips and plays, covering different holes with his fingers. After a few notes, John-boy recognises the song as 'Beautiful Dreamer', and sings softly along. _

_At the end of the song, John-boy smiles and says: "Why, that's just beautiful. Where'd you get it?"_

"_Ike found it at a flea market and saved it for me. He even gave it me for free."_

"_Gave __it _to _me, __Jas,__" __corrects __John-boy.__ "__Why, __that__'__s __real __nice __of __Ike. __Tell __you __what. __How__ '__bout __I __go __down __to __the __store __and __find __out __what __his __favourite __song __is, __so __you __can __play __it __for __him __as __a__ '__thank__you__'__.__"_

"_Gee, thanks John-boy, that'd be swell."_

_Suddenly the sky of the scene turns very dark, and the two children grow older, broader, so that two teenagers stand on the porch, arguing._

"_I just don't see why you can't practise in the barn!" shouts John-boy._

"_You know Daddy won't let me play in the barn since Daisy got spooked," retorts Jason._

"_The __cow __got __spooked? _We _got __spooked! __I __can__'__t __get __any __work __done __at __all, __and __that __thing__'__s __so __darn __high __it __hurts __my __ears.__"_

"_Well what do you want me to do, John-boy, I need to practise."_

"_Darn right you need to practise. You're still as awful at it now as you were when you got it four years ago."_

_Jason kicks his brother in the shin. John-boy stares at Jason for a moment, before wrenching the ocarina from his hand and throwing it to the ground. The ocarina shatters, and a second later the anger disappears from John-boy's face._

"_Oh my gosh!" He drops to the ground and begins to pick up the shards of the destroyed instrument._

"_Aw Jas, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to break It, really."_

_He straightens up, and the two boys look mournfully at the pieces in his hand._

"_I'll fix it, I promise."_

Deep within his broken mind, John-boy smiled. The ocarina never had been replaced, but Jason had made an effort not to mention it. Of course, Jason was his brother. He remembered now. The image of his parents and him sat at the dining table appeared before him again, but now Jason sat a little way away from him.

Two other seats were filled as well, one directly across from him, one directly across from his father; an old man, and an old woman. It was odd. He didn't remember remembering them, but now that he saw them, he remembered everything about them. Zeb and Esther. His grandparents on his father's side. And as he looked onto the scene, he guessed that this was the family he had been missing; a medium family of six, two from each generation.

Somewhere, there was the sound of a door closing as someone walked through. John-boy was left alone again to drift through the broken, swirling darkness.

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><p><strong>Remember, review if you want more! Might take a while, though, it was hard enough uploading this one. My computers a bit weird, I can't even send emails.<strong>


	3. The Waltons

**Short chapter I know, but this is the last part of the 'introduction'. Next chapter we start seeing the memories of what happened :]**

**Review!**

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><p>"John-boy? …Can ya hear me?"<p>

The voice was hard to place without a name. A shock of red hair swam into view, parted on one side. A pale, freckly face appeared under it, followed by large brown eyes and a slightly uneasy smile.

"There's no use asking him a question, Ben, it's not like he can answer you."

Ben. Yes. That was the name of his second brother.

He remembered an early morning, when he was 11, not long after he had moved into his new room.

_A young John-boy lay asleep in his new double bed. Still used to a single bed, he sleeps curled up on one side, next to his wardrobe. _

_There was a knock at the door, waking the boy with a start. He grabs his clock. It's 4:00 am. Worried, John-boy rubs the sleep out of his eyes and hurries to the door._

"_Ben?"_

_The sleepy five-year-old stood yawning outside, clutching a stuffed rabbit. _

"_Can I sleep in here, John-boy? It's not the same in our room with just three."_

_John-boy turns his head to look at his large bed. Half of it was still made, as he had only slept on one side. He turned back to his tiny brother._

"_Sure, Ben, come on in."_

"_Thanks."_

_Ben toddled in and climbed sleepily under the covers. John-boy yawned and shut the door, before following. _

_John-boy lay awake for few minutes, listening to Ben's breathing. When he was satisfied that he was asleep, he snuggled down into his pillow and shut his eyes._

"_Goodnight, Ben."_

"John-boy…"

"Ben, I told you not to ask questions!"

"That wasn't a question, that's his _name _Mary-Ellen!"

"You asked it like a question," replied the girl's voice, a little defensively.

Behind these words, someone else was sobbing. "John-boy…" breathed the crier.

John-boy felt a sudden desperate need to hold and comfort the little girl. More red hair. A face. A name. _Elizabeth._

Something in John-boy's brain shuddered into life, and a flood of memories hit him. Birthday parties, school days, Christmases, arguments. And he knew.

_He __was __a __Walton. _The oldest Walton child. He was one of seven. He head three brothers – Jason, Ben and Jim-bob – and three sisters – Mary-Ellen, Erin and Elizabeth. He lived with them, his parents and his grandparents on Walton's Mountain.

And for some reason, he was lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

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><p><strong>Review for next chapter<strong>


	4. Memory?

**Sorry for the long update time, I had some stuff I needed to be dealing with and I was still working out the storyline. Now that I have, I need to warn you that this really, really is un-Waltonish. It's T for a reason and will include references to suicide. It will be another long update time I'm afraid as my first GCSEs are coming up, so sorry about that. Anywho, onwards with the story.**

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><p>The image of the dining table was once again recalled to the front of his mind, now with all the seats filled. Then, as if it had been waiting for him, the image came to life. It was quiet; uncharacteristically so for their family meal. Somebody coughed. He, John-boy, was glaring around the table. All of his siblings were looking away, most of them at their own laps. They looked uncomfortable. In fact, the only person looking directly at him was his father, his face set. John-boy met his gaze last of all, staring deep into his eyes. He seemed…. a<em>ngry. <em>It was odd; it was rare for him to be angry at his father.

"So you all feel that way, huh?"

"John-boy…" this was his mother. She looked distressed.

But John-boy was already standing, still glaring at his father. After a moment, he moved swiftly to the door, grabbing his jacket on the way. "Well, I'm not staying here with people who think I'm some kind of _criminal."_

"John-boy, please!" His mother followed him to the door, staying his hand as it hit the handle. Her eyes were shining with tears. "Please don't do this."

"I'm sorry, Mama, I really am. But I just can't stay here with people like…" –he glared at his father again – "people like _him._"

Without warning, Olivia slapped him. "Don't you _dare_ talk about your father like that!"

He held her gaze, even with his face smarting, pure fury emanating from him. Nearly a full minute passed. For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn't go through with it, that he would just storm up to his room.

But now; still watching his mother, he opened the door and was gone. After a moment, the door opened again and he heard his mother run after him.

"John-boy!"

He didn't turn around. He just kept walking towards his car.

"John-boy, get back here!" This was his father. Now both his parents were after him. He could hear his father's heavy footfalls catching up with him. Not that it mattered.

He had reached his car now. He flung open the door, and was about to get in when a hand grabbed his upper arm and held him tight. He turned into it so that he was face to face with his father.

"Listen here, John-boy," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Ep has handed you over to us in the knowledge that we will punish you ourselves. If you leave this house he will have to _arrest _you." He shook him. "Don't you know what that _means_?"

As John-boy stared back, he could feel his eyes moistening, but he kept his jaw set. When he spoke, his voice was low, trying – and failing – to stop his voice from shaking. "But I didn't _do _anything."

His father gave a long, shaking sigh, trying to control himself. "Alright then. You explain what happened then."

John-boy slowly shook his head. "Oh, no. You've missed that chance. I tried to explain it inside, but you didn't want to know. You've made it perfectly clear what happened. According to you I'm a _thief, _so that's what I am. And _thieves _aren't welcome in this house, you've made that perfectly clear too."

He pulled his arm from his father's grip, got in his car, and drove away into the night before anyone else could try to stop him, leaving his family staring after him in despair.

These images confused John-boy. Were they a memory? They couldn't be. He would never treat his father like that, nor his father him. Besides, this 'memory' didn't feel the same as the ones from his childhood. No. No.

But if it wasn't a memory, what else could it be?

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><p><strong>Review please.<strong>


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